


Impractical Magic

by DHW



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: ...ish, F/M, Magic Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 19:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: After Cleveland, Faith comes to stay.Post-Chosen, no comics.





	Impractical Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subito/gifts).



> Dear Subito,
> 
> I started this thinking I was going to write you a Dom!Giles fic. Then I got distracted thinking about the way magic works in the Buffyverse, and this is what happened instead. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> \---
> 
> The theory and mechanics behind the magic come mainly from the comics canon. This fic is not, however, comic compliant. Just so you know. 

*

After Cleveland, after the prevention of one apocalypse too many, Faith found herself on his doorstep, suitcase in hand and an excuse on her lips. 

She couldn’t say for certain why she was there, or why she had picked Giles, of all people, to run to. They’d never been close. He was Head of the Council these days, and Faith? Well, she wasn’t on the best of terms with London’s suited and booted, changed though the Council was. Attempted homicide of a former Watcher, though very much old-regime, didn’t make for the easiest of reunions. And yet, there she was, on the doorstep of his flat, with its uneven flagstones and the letters R.E.G scrawled on the slip by the third buzzer. Waiting. 

The sound of footsteps descending stairs emanated from behind the door. It opened with a creak. 

‘Faith?’

‘Surprise,’ she said. 

And it was. For both of them.

*

She took the spare room in Giles’ flat. It had a single bed nestled between bookshelves replete with a mix of occult tomes and popular fiction, and a chest of drawers in which she could store her meagre possessions. Her suitcase lived in the space beneath her bed. Her weapons in the wardrobe set back into the far wall. There was a desk too, surprisingly free of clutter, and the expectation that she would soon put it to use. It was part of the deal.

Giles, of course, apologised for the lack of space. Of privacy. It was merely temporary, he assured her. A stop gap until she could find a place of her own. Faith wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, but it was warm and free and away from Cleveland, and that was all that mattered.

A week into her stay, after breakfast, the teapot almost empty, Giles set a book down beside her plate.

The title read: _Vampyr_.

‘What the fuck is this?’ she said, settling back into her chair. She pulled a cigarette from the packet she kept in her back pocket and lit it. She took a deep drag, tilting her head back and blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. ‘I’m not a newbie, G. I know what I’m doing.’

Giles looked unfazed by her response. He took a sip of tea from his mug and said, ‘Have you read it?’ 

‘Bits.’ 

He nodded. 

‘Then I think this is where we’ll begin, with a grounding in theory.’

‘Why? It’s not rocket science,’ she scoffed. ‘See a demon. Stab it. Poof, demon dies. Job done. Don’t need a book to tell me that.’

His eyes were piercing green, narrowed behind his spectacles and glued to her face. It was as though they bored into her soul. 

‘I wouldn’t be too certain.’

Unsure of how to respond, and a faint sort of anger bubbling beneath her nonchalant exterior, Faith kept quiet. She made a show of stubbing out her cigarette on her plate; Giles sipped at his tea. A silence fell between them. A stalemate. 

‘Why did you come here Faith?’ said Giles after a time, when his mug was empty.

‘Dunno,’ Faith replied. ‘I just did.’

It wasn’t the truth ( _that_ involved Cleveland and Robin and a list of issues as long as a piece of string), but it was a close enough approximation. As far as explanations went, it would do. 

Giles frowned. 

‘Then we begin with the book.’

*

London was different to Cleveland. It was considerably wetter for a start. The city seemed to hold a slightly dirty air about it, the streets coated in a thin layer of dust and grime as if to match the permanently overcast skies. Puddles littered the uneven pavements, and a faint smog blurred the skyline.

It was grey. Damp. Perhaps even a little grim, despite its southerly location. 

But it wasn’t Cleveland, which had to count for something. 

Giles was true to his word. Faith found herself studying for two hours each morning, and three in the afternoon. They sparred before dinner, hunted after dark, but the main focus was the book. Always the book. 

It made her skin itch, all this thinking. She wasn’t a smart girl. Not dumb, but not smart either. And academic pursuits had never been her forte; high school dropout, troubled teen, that was Faith Lehane. Social services to Slayer to jailbird, pinging from dot to dot as though she were in a pinball machine. There had never been _time_ to think before, and certainly never any encouragement. 

It was getting easier. That much was true. But easier didn’t mean easy; there was only so much Faith could read about the vagaries of elemental magicks, or the ins-and-outs of energy generation and expenditure during interdimensional travel before she threatened to become cross-eyed. 

‘I bet you never made B do this,’ said Faith, three months and two notepads in. 

Giles was on his knees, searching for a book. His head bobbed beneath the edge of the desk as he scanned the lower shelves, dipping briefly out of her line of sight. His reply was muffled.

‘Correct. I did not.’

‘Fucking figures.’ She threw her pen on the desk and shook the cramp from her hand, scowling. ‘No extra reading for perfect Queen B.’

There was pause. One that heavy with tension. This was the first time they had spoken of Buffy since she arrived. The topic, it appeared, was taboo. 

‘You aren’t Buffy,’ he said quietly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw him reach to pick up her discarded pen. He wiped the nib with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket, turning the white cotton a splotchy sort of blue. 

‘No shit, Giles.’ 

He sighed heavily. ‘It isn’t a criticism.’

‘Sure as fuck feels like one.’

Another sigh, louder this time, and Giles rose to his feet. Reaching across the desk, he placed her pen carefully atop her notebook. Faith resisted the urge to slap away his hand. 

‘Buffy may have been many things, but she wasn’t without her flaws, Faith.’ 

‘Yeah, sure seemed that way to me,’ she replied, sarcasm dripping from her words. Despite the anger that never quite went away threatening to spill over, her tone turned melancholy as she continued. ‘'Cause screwing vamps ain’t even in the same ballpark as murder. That’s before we even get to the other stuff. But, hey, at least I don’t fuck the undead.’ She snorted humourlessly. ‘You picked a poor fucking replacement, G.’

‘I’m not trying to replace her. That would be desperately unfair to her, and to you.’ He placed a hand on her shoulder. The weight of it was heart breaking and comforting and so terribly frightening all at once. ‘I don’t want you to be Buffy. I want you to be _Faith_. To be the best that you can be.’

Faith looked away, her eyes falling on the open book. The title at the top of the page read, _‘The Dance of the Van-tal’_. A deeply unfunny coincidence. Giles followed the direction of her gaze. 

Giving her shoulder a squeeze, he said, ‘That’s enough reading for today, I think,’ and closed the book.

*

The problem with Slayers was arrogance. They were quick. They were strong. And nine times out of ten, that was all that mattered. Most demons were weak, or slow, or some combination of the two. But not always.

Arrogance got you killed. 

The key to efficient slaying was technique, Giles told her. Well, that and the ability to think on one’s feet. It was why the manual was so important, and why they trained day after day, night after night, month after month. There were bigger, stronger, quicker things lurking in the night, but none of them undefeatable, given proper practice and attention. Form was vital, as was footwork; a fact Giles aptly demonstrated on several occasions. 

He was the weaker of the pair. Faith’s strength, her agility, gave her an inherent advantage over her ageing sparring partner, and yet, more often than not, it was Faith who found herself flat upon her back, sword at her throat, or knife pressed against the soft flesh of her stomach. 

‘How the fuck do you do that?’ she asked one afternoon. 

It was midwinter, rain striking the skylight in his office, and she was flat on her back on the carpet. Giles’ forearm was pressed against her throat. She’d been on her feet seconds before. 

‘Magic,’ he replied, pushing himself upright.

‘Yeah right,’ she scoffed. ‘How’d you do it really?’

Giles gave her a hand up, and when she was back on her feet, he said, ‘I’ve already told you. Magic.’ 

‘What, abracadabra and all that shit?’

‘More or less.’ He frowned. ‘Definitely less. But that’s the general gist of things, yes.’

‘Never took you for the Gandalf sort,’ she said, cracking her knuckles and shaking away the ache in her shoulder from her brief and uncomfortable encounter with the floor of his flat. ‘But whatevs.’ She shrugged. ‘Never thought you were the type to get inked, either, so it’s not like I haven’t been wrong before.’

‘There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Faith.’

And that was true enough. He was a study in contradictions. Prim yet oddly predatory. Both scholar and thug in a bespoke suit and Dr Martens. He stood before her, a fussy sort of perfection in wool and silk, his glasses glinting in the weak winter sunlight, dirt from the street on his boots. She felt her stomach lurch at the sight of him, at the wicked smile that tugged at the edges of his lips. It spoke of a past perhaps as sordid as her own. 

‘Oh yeah?’ she said, folding her arms. ‘Like what?’

‘I cheat when I fight.’

‘With magic?’

‘Amongst other things.’

There was an undercurrent to his words that she couldn’t quite place. Almost as if there was a secret lurking in them, hiding between the lines and in the shadows. 

‘Alright, Houdini. Teach me,’ she said. 

‘What? Magic?’

Faith rolled her eyes. ‘No. How to cheat.’

His smile broke into a fully-fledged grin. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

*

They started small. Misdirection, mostly. Slight of hand. Not strictly cheating, more stacking the odds in her favour. She already fought dirty, had done for years, but this was different: the blows still landed below the belt, but they were more regimented, more controlled than before.

Still, despite the expanded curriculum, Faith continued to find herself losing. Granted, it was becoming more infrequent an occurrence, but Giles still had an edge that could not be entirely accounted for through superior skill. 

And each time Faith fell, he assigned her another chapter of the book to read.

*

Nine months to the day after Faith moved in, Giles said, ‘What do you know about magic?’

They were in his office. All the furniture, save for the desk, had been pushed back against the walls. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the glow from the streetlamp that shone just outside the window. Two candles stood upon an occasional table positioned in the far corner, their flames flickering and dancing in the draught that blew in from beneath the door. 

‘Magic?’ Faith shrugged. ‘That it’s bad fucking news.’ 

Giles gave a faint snort of amusement at the flippancy of her answer.

She knew about his history. His past. A while back, a wet weekend and most of a bottle of whiskey (single malt, expensive) had persuaded him to lay his secrets bare. The ones involving magic and man called Randall, and later, the ones involving Buffy and Willow and Spike. The exchange of information had been mutual: four glasses in, double measures, and Faith had found herself spilling her guts to her drunken Watcher. She'd told him about her parents, who didn’t care, and her first Watcher, who did. About the Mayor and Wesley and Angel. She’d told him about Robin, too, and by proxy, about Cleveland. 

It was something they had in common; the need to atone for their mistakes. 

‘Alright,’ said Giles. ‘A different question, then. What has the book taught you about magic?’ 

‘Mostly that it’s really fucking complicated. Lots o’ math.’

‘Faith,’ he warned, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he leant back against the edge of his desk. ‘Answer the question.’

She rolled her eyes but complied. ‘Magic’s kinda like energy. You can’t create it. Can’t destroy it. It just sorta is. All witches and warlocks do is move it around.’

‘Correct. Magic cannot be created or destroyed, merely transferred from one place to another. It is subject to the Laws of Conservation, just like all other forms of energy. Those capable of wielding magic simply act as conduits for this energy, bending it and shaping it to their will as they give it direction and fresh purpose.’

Giles removed a hand from his trouser pocket. He snapped his fingers and a small orb, about the size and shape of a golf ball, popped into existence. It glowed a faint blue, hovering an inch or so above his left palm. Faith watched as the orb trailed over the backs of his fingers, changing from blue to a deep red as it looped beneath his palm before retracing its path. 

‘There is magic in all things,’ he said, ‘both inanimate and living. An experienced witch or warlock can tap into this with ease, using the potential energy inherent in his or her surroundings as a source of power.’

‘Like a battery?’

‘In a way,’ he replied. He clapped his hands together and the orb shattered in a shower of sparks. ‘However, this does not come without risk. For example, tapping into a strong reservoir of magical potential is an extremely risky business. One that can result in the death of the practitioner. All very hellfire and brimstone.’

‘Crispy,’ said Faith with a grin. ‘So what happens if you drain the battery?’

‘Up to a point, living creatures maintain the ability to replenish depleted magical potential in much the same way they replenish other forms of energy, through food, drink and adequate rest. For inanimate objects, however, full drainage of magical potential often results in the destruction of said object. See here.’

Reaching behind him, Giles removed a single teasel from the vase of dried flowers that lived upon his desk. Holding it loosely in his right hand, he began to make a series of small, complicated-looking gestures with his left. Slowly, thin wisps of smoke began to curl from the tips of his fingers, the threads spinning together to form what appeared to be a small cloud. Faith watched, fascinated, as it drifted out towards the far corner of the room, coming to a halt over the umbrella stand by the door. 

‘Neat trick,’ she said. 

‘I’m not finished,’ Giles replied. He snapped his fingers. From the corner there came a blinding flash and the crack of thunder. The cloud vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving nothing but the umbrella stand, now in pieces upon the floor. ‘In much the same way that we burn wood to release energy in the form of heat and light, the release of that energy as magic also results in the destruction of the original object. You’ll note that the teasel is gone.’

And it was, now nothing but ash that Giles shook from his fingers. 

‘Your umbrella stand isn’t looking too hot, either, G.’

‘A necessary casualty.’ He sniffed. ‘Couldn’t stand the thing.’ 

It seemed a little like overkill, but who was she to judge? She'd done worse over less.

‘Fun as the fireworks are, I don’t get how this is teaching me to cheat.’

‘Patience is a virtue, Faith,’ Giles scolded. 

‘I’ve always been more about the vices.’

‘Of that I’m more than aware.’ 

‘You should try them sometime. Way more fun.’

‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ he replied. 

The look he gave her was sly. Knowing. A suggestion of a grin played at the edge of his lips, and Faith felt a wave of heat roll across her skin. 

This wasn’t new, this sense of attraction. She’d felt the strings of it tug at her for months. Perhaps even years, thinking back to her time in SunnyD. 

He was hardly Brad Pitt and noticeably ageing, his temples grey and a slight paunch beneath his shirt. But the lure wasn’t so much physical as something Faith could only define as _other_. Of course, were he to request she go down on her knees right there and then, she would. Being a generous lover was not one of her finer attributes, but she couldn’t deny that learning the sound he made when he came held a particular appeal: would he shout his pleasure, or simply spasm and shake in silence as she worked him with her fingers and tongue, his self-control still as rigid as his cock? 

Faith shivered at the idea, the thought of him hard and so very helpless as she pleasured him making her nipples tighten against the fabric of her bra. Any other man would have fucked her by now, but this was Giles. Stiff upper lip along with stiff whatever else. And that unwavering restraint of his was part of the attraction, she supposed. A life surrounded by beautiful young women, and not so much as a hint of scandal. Of impropriety. The man might as well have been a monk, for all the world knew. 

She wondered what it would take to fracture that façade. To bring the wealth of emotion she knew he kept so tightly controlled bubbling up to the surface. And when that control was gone, when it had splintered into a million pieces, whether she would want him more, or less.

‘Worried you’ll ruin your reputation?’ she said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. ‘Or more worried you might corrupt me?’

‘I think you’ve already done well enough there on your own, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know. Some of the deadlier sins are more fun with two.’

Giles quirked an eyebrow. ‘Again, I hesitate to draw comment. Now, I believe you wanted to learn how to cheat?’

*

It was all about magic, when it really came down to it. Or, more accurately, energy transfer. Magical potential, complete with mystic batteries and occult circuitry.

‘Over the centuries,’ said Giles, tending to the candles that had burned low upon table, ‘many scholars of the occult arts have discovered ways and means of storing magical energy, ready to tap in to at a later date. Certain crystals and particular types of wood are often employed in this endeavour, fashioned typically into staffs or wands, but there are other ways. Darker ones.’

For all his talk of cheating, they had spent most of the evening, and a sizeable number of the early hours that had followed it, meditating. This sort of skulduggery required an open mind for success, he’d told her. Though Faith was pretty sure that were her mind to become any more open than it currently was, her brain would fall out. 

‘Dark like, what? Corpses and shit?’

‘People. Living ones. Particularly those with special powers.’

Faith thought back to the book. To the passages that had spoken of the First Slayer and the Shadowmen.

‘You mean like a Slayer? Like me?’

Giles nodded. ‘Like you.’ 

Slowly, the cogs and the gears began to move, and everything clicked into place. Giles’ ability to defeat her with ease; his insistence upon her study of the handbook; the things he had told her about magic. 

‘So, when you say you’re cheating–’

‘I’m actually using your own power against you.’

She nodded. ‘Yeah, I get it. Give yourself a bit of the old Slayer bonus to up your strength.’ A sardonic grin tugged at her lips. ‘So that’s why you leave me flat on my back.’

To her surprise, Giles shook his head.

‘No, I’m afraid that’s simply superior training and experience. Despite your fervent protests to the contrary, footwork matters.’ His smile was smug. ‘But what I can do is use the power I take from you for modified misdirection. Small feats of magic. Tricks of the light, and so forth.’ He gave a small wave of his hand and Faith watched as he seemed to blur ever so slightly before her, the distortion just enough to mask the finer points of motion. She blinked and his image sharpened once again. ‘More interestingly, however, is that I believe the process may work both ways.’

‘So? I can’t do magic,’ she replied.

‘Not in the traditional sense, no. However, given what I have just told you, where do you think your powers stem from? And, following on from that, what do you think would occur were you given a boost?’

She thought about it for a moment. 

Mayhem. That’s what would occur. Utter, fucking mayhem. 

Faith grinned. ‘I get it. It’s just energy, right? What you use as magic, I can use to boost my firepower. Hence the cheating.’

‘It would be an easy way to steal the wind from your opponent’s sails,’ he agreed. ‘But it would take an awful lot of practice, and magic comes with its own, very particular set of hazards. Though I suspect, given that you are less of a magic user and more a magical creature, for lack of a better term, the addiction side will be a non-issue.’ 

For all his reassurances, he radiated a distinct air of unease. One that spoke of more dangerous outcomes than simple addiction. 

‘So, what’s the problem?’

Giles hesitated, not quite able to meet her eye. 

‘Magic can be… unpredictable. It can induce feelings, sensations that we wouldn’t otherwise experience given the circumstances. Heighten things that are already there. Fears, wants, dreams.’

‘Scared I’ll crack?’ she replied. ‘Go back to being little Miss Homicide?’

‘Hardly. For all your sins, you’ve turned out remarkably well adjusted in the end.’

She paused for a second, thinking. Magic. It heightened feelings, emotions, desires, and lately her dreams had been more about want than fear. 

‘Scared we’ll fuck?’ she said. 

‘No.’

The denial was quick. Too quick to be convincing, especially combined with the way his breath had hitched ever so slightly. 

‘No, you’re not scared? Or no, we won’t fuck?’

‘Interesting question.’

'Ain't it just?'

Giles looked at her then. She’d been right about the flush – it had spread to his neck and was deepening in colour under her scrutiny. His eyes were bright with something that wasn’t quite lust. More _curiosity_. 

‘Show me,’ she said with a nod.

He seemed to hesitate. ‘You’re sure? This could potentially turn into something from which there is no return.’

‘Five by five, G.’

*

It didn’t happen that first night. Nor the second, or third. By the tenth attempt, Faith was beginning to suspect it never would.

‘Maybe you’re wrong, G,’ she said, as they stood in the centre of his office, hands joined. ‘Maybe it’s just a one-way street. Your magic just ain’t my jam.’ 

To test his pet theory, Giles had suggested they share his magic. Or at least attempt to. Though well versed in the art of spell craft, he was not particularly powerful. This, plus the tentative trust the pair of them had built over the course of the last year, made him an ideal candidate for the task at hand.

‘Clear your mind, Faith,’ he said softly, ignoring her complaint, his voice soothing and gentle. ‘No words, no images, no thoughts. Just blank space. Quiet, blank space as you focus on your breathing. In. And out.’

Faith followed his instructions. Willing her mind to clear despite the stirrings of arousal that had begun to tug between her thighs. It had been like this the previous nine times, too. No magic, no power, just a colossal case of the horn that only seemed to be getting stronger with each attempt. It was all the contact, she thought. And the knowledge that Giles wasn’t quite so averse to the idea of a good fuck as she had previously thought.

‘Good,’ he said. She felt his hand squeeze hers. ‘Now tell me what you feel.’

‘Nothing.’

She felt nothing except the anticipatory tightening of intimate muscles and the brush of fabric against the pebbles of her nipples. Only… Wait. That wasn’t quite true. 

It began as the smallest of sensations. So small she almost didn’t notice. Just a flicker of something _Other_ against her consciousness, the touch featherlight and as substantial as smoke. 

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I think I feel something.’

Tendrils snaked out across her awareness, the sensation halfway between feeling and thinking. Not quite physical, but more than merely mental, and curling like cigarette smoke. She felt her mind reach out to grab at it, but it slipped away. She flinched, eyes snapping open. 

‘Concentrate,’ Giles urged. ‘Don’t rush it. Just concentrate.’

Faith nodded, closed her eyes once more, and focused her attention on her heartbeat, her breathing. She focused on the arousal, too, the excitement she felt deep in her belly having intensified considerably. Slowly, the smoke, the magic, began to expand further into her consciousness, demanding more of her attention. She felt it seep into her mind, her soul, bringing with it something she could only describe as _personality_ , or perhaps the ghost of it. It had a flavour of sarcasm and tea, an undercurrent of kindness, and a top note of bittersweet sadness. Giles, she realised. 

And just like that, the magic slammed into her like a wave. It was as if the floodgates had opened, the mental acknowledgement of Giles as the source breaking the final barrier and letting it all rush through.

‘Woah,’ she breathed.

‘Can you feel it?’ he asked. ‘The power? The magic?’

She could, and it felt like flying. Or maybe it felt like diving. Or floating. Or Sinking. Like the flutter of a thousand tiny wings. The splash of a million raindrops. Like a big wave in a small sea, and a grain of sand in vast desert. It felt like rocks and rivers and electrons and circuitry. Like birth and death and all the things that fell in between. 

Like living. 

It felt like living. 

‘Fuck, Giles,’ she said. ‘Is this what it’s always like?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied, amusement colouring his magic as well as his words. ‘What is it like?’ 

She took a deep breath; the scent of the room, of the candles that burned upon the table, of Giles was almost overwhelming. It was all so familiar, a mix of tea and dust and sandalwood. And yet, it felt different. Sharper, perhaps, each distinct scent clamouring for attention, bringing with it undercurrents that made her synapses pop and fizz as they fired. 

She could feel his hands against her, too. Both where they were physically joined, his fingers between her own, and the ghost of them at her waist, her jaw, her hips. They were everywhere and nowhere. Touching, teasing, testing. 

Magic thrummed hotly in her veins. It was more intoxicating than anything she’d ever known. It sent sparks of pleasure coursing through her, the sensations rising and falling in intensity with her beat of her heart. Or maybe his. It was difficult to tell.

‘It feels like… like…’

‘Like what?’ he prompted, his voice low. Sensual. 

It felt like the thrill of the fight. Of the fuck. Of flight. 

‘Like I’m alive. Like I’m really fucking alive.’ 

‘And me? Can you feel me?’

‘Yes,’ she gasped. 

She could feel his hands, feel his mind, feel his intent. She could feel the way, were they to fuck, that he would tease her clit with the pad of his thumb, the firm touch making her keen softly. And the way he would palm her breasts, her nipples sliding between his fingers as he teased her sensitive flesh. There were other sensations, too. Ones of skin against skin, fingers tangled in her hair and pulling, of mouths and tongues and teeth, and of being filled over and over and over, the magic pulling her deeper with every thrust, the last vestiges of her control spiralling away until she no longer knew where she ended and Giles began.

‘You’re beautiful, Faith,’ he murmured, his voice seeming to cut a path through the roar of the magic, quiet but clear. ‘I hope you know that.’

‘Fuck.’

She was close. She could feel the burn of her impending orgasm deep between her thighs. Sweat beaded across her skin, running down the hollow of her spine. Her fingers itched as she fought to keep them entwined with his, away from her aching breasts and cunt. She tilted her head to back, a bolt of white-hot pleasure coursing through her as he spoke. 

‘Let go, Faith.’

A low groan slipped from her lips as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She could feel wave after wave of power, magic, wash over her, the sensation almost overwhelming. She felt her brain begin to shut down with the sheer pleasure of it, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. 

She felt alive. More than that, even. Like she could feel the way the world was spinning beneath her feet, taste the sunlight that shone in through the window, see the shadows of everyone who’d ever stood here, in this flat. She took a deep, shaky breath, and leant forward to steady herself against Giles’ chest as the sensations began to fade. 

After a minute or two, Faith pulled back and cast a lazy glance up at her Watcher. Though his breathing had steadied, his eyes remained more than a little wild behind his spectacles. His skin held a deep flush, sweat beaded across his brow and upper lip. 

‘Feel better?’ he asked with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

A bark of a laugh escaped her as she realised what he meant. 

‘Yeah. You?’

‘For my sins,’ he replied with a grin.

Well, that answered that. 

‘Fuck,’ she breathed. Her tongue was thick in her mouth. Uncooperative. ‘Is it always like that?’

‘No, not always. Wouldn’t be much use in a fight if it was.’ Giles swayed slightly against her. Faith could feel his heart pounding in his chest, despite the relative calm of his voice. ‘It’s all about intent.’

‘You wanted to fuck me.’

‘It’s situation and source dependent, too,’ he added hastily. ‘Nicking power from something like an orange is different to sharing power with a willing human.’

‘And a demon?’

‘Different again.’ 

‘Figures.’

There was a brief pause before Giles said, ‘Of course, we’ll have to do this again, you know. Now that we know it’s possible.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Refine the process. Make it more useful in combat situations. Less sex, more magic,’ he mused. ‘The book won’t be any help, of course. But there are others down in the Council’s stacks that may shed a little enlightenment on the proceedings. It would mean a great deal more research. Exciting though. Wouldn’t you say, Faith?’

But she wasn’t listening. She was too busy _feeling_.

Chimes filled the air as the clock struck eleven. She could hear the hum of the traffic in the street beyond and rumble of the trains deep below her feet. The air was warm, pleasantly so, filled with the scent of beeswax and leather polish. She smiled. 

'Faith?'

‘Five by five, G,’ she replied, closing her eyes. ‘Five by five.’


End file.
